


The Island

by MadBertha



Category: Watchmen - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Crack, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-25
Updated: 2015-05-25
Packaged: 2018-04-01 04:54:20
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 829
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4006555
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadBertha/pseuds/MadBertha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For the Watchmen Around the World prompt: write fics on Watchmen in your country/city/somewhere you're familiar with</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Island

**For the[ **Watchmen Around the World prompt**](http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/2938.html?thread=8299386#t8299386)** : write fics on Watchmen in your country/city/somewhere you're familiar with.

_I held off denoning for this one at first because I was hoping for MORE and MORE responses to the prompt, plus I didn't spend much time writing it. I'm happy with the fics that did get written (links below if anyone wants). Probably one I wouldn't bother spamming the comms about, it was more a spur than a proper fic._

\---

Early Saturday evening and already the teenagers are out in force at Newton Hawker Centre, milling about in groups, loud voices begging to be overheard. It's bustling at the oyster omelette stall, 'Famous oh chien,' in red in the window. Sweat pours down the neck of the cook as he sweeps the food to and fro around the huge iron wok, the sound of his spatula's clanging and scrapping over the hum and hiss of the gas flames that cradle the wok. The smell of frying food hovers around the whole place, mingling with the smell of sweaty bodies in this typically hot and humid evening.

There's no tables available. Two louts looking for a spot, black hair bleached with streaks of light brown, approach one of the tables nearby, in front of a quieter stall. There's only one person sitting there, and it's a lean small man in a singlet, khaki shorts and rubber sandals reading a newspaper, no problem.

When they come up close, he doesn't look up. "Eh, old man, you eating or what? We need this table, so get lost," one of the boys says.

The man straightens and his shoulders push back. Suddenly, they notice he's not as skinny as they thought, muscles bulge at his biceps and at front of his singlet, an uncommon sight. He's also not as old, middle-aged at most. Still, he's just one, and they're two.

"You deaf? Did you hear me?" Taking hold of the man's arm, he makes to pull him off the stool.

Too fast to process, the man pulls away the youth's arm with his free hand, and slams down on the inside of his elbow with the now freed fist. The youth yowls in a high-pitched voice. A sweep of his foot at his ankle, and the young man is lying on the sticky mosaic flooring, cradling his arm.

The other young man says, "Ka ni na" ('your mother's cunt'), and reaches into his shirt. Too slow--he gets a right jab and then is finished off with a left punch that knocks him out, straight into the vegetables that one stallholder is preparing on the table next to them.

"Aiyoh, Weng, that was all for tonight!" The stallholder wails as he bends down and reaches into the youth's shirt. He finds a knife and holds it to the conscious young thug's neck.

"Find another table," he growls, and the boy scrabbles away. When he's gone, he pockets the knife and proceeds to search the other one too. He finds a wallet and a mobile phone, hands them to the stallholder and leaves.

\---

Disguise too effective. Led to usual observation post being compromised and now will have to find another. Pity, as it was popular for drug transactions and gang members' meeting point. The youth are getting worse by the day. Once, the inhabitants of this city knew the value of hard work and thrift. Ancestors came here with nothing but the shirts on their backs, worked as dogs for the white imperialists, then forged ahead after independence. Now, everyone has gone soft, everything too easy, maids to cook, clean and bring up the children, everything handed on a plate. Children are spoilt and lazy, raised on computer games, model themselves after American, Japanese or Hong Kong pop and film stars, and graduate to night clubs, ecstacy, ketamine and methamphetamine. The police are ignoring the drug and gambling cartels, too afraid because used to handling docile population.

Government even worse. Alternates between laughable micro-laws that touch only the surface and simpering concessions. Fearful of offending the growing youth who have no memory of the old days and whore themselves on a daily basis to their foreign gods.

\---

_Views of characters in this fic, especially of subcultures described, do not mirror that of the author, although it was too damn easy to see what an extreme right winger would think of the country of my youth today._ _I don't think it's an accurate socially realistic portrayal of Singapore even in the 80s, by the way, I kind of wrote this just to spur people on. On a recent visit to Newton, I was sad to see that it's lost it's smoky, dingy atmosphere after its renovation--it's becoming more a tourist eatery, whereas it was a nice mix in the past, and the food has dropped in quality which is unforgivable._

Fics written by other authors for this prompt:  
[Benigno Numine](http://spam-monster.livejournal.com/2938.html?thread=8337018#t8337018)  
[Middle Ground](http://servetolive.livejournal.com/17940.html) by [](http://servetolive.livejournal.com/profile)[**servetolive**](http://servetolive.livejournal.com/)


End file.
